


I Love You 'Till I Die

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Torture, flaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Soulmates feel each other's pain, this is known. But what happens when your soulmate betrays you?
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	I Love You 'Till I Die

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Now and Always Vine, which i definitely recommend you check out if you get the chance!

Robb nearly screamed as a sudden pain ripped through him, a pain he knew did not come from his body. It was a pain that was not his own, and yet it still was for it was a pain which belonged to his heart. 

His soulmate was being hurt, being tortured from the feel of it, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was a small part of him that wondered if he even wanted to do anything about it. 

Theon had betrayed him. Had turned his cloak. Had taken his home and forced his brothers to flee to the safety of White Harbour. 

Theon had loved him. Had wanted them to be together with no woman between them. Had dreamt that one day they might marry beneath the Heart Tree and before the Drowned God.

And Robb had crushed those dreams.

He had been promised to a Frey so his army could use a bridge, he had sent Theon home to negotiate with his father, he had mentioned how they might soon part ways, as King in the North and Heir to the Salt Throne. And Theon had seen it as a rejection.

He had lashed out, that much was obvious (or at least it was to Robb), had thought of how best to hurt his soulmate. Theon had thrown a tantrum, had tried to gain Robb’s attention, only now he was paying the price.

Robb did scream as the next bolt of pain lashed through him, searing in a line down his back. It felt almost as though his skin was being peeled off, but surely that could not be so? Flaying had been outlawed in the North ever since the last Red King had sworn fealty to Robb’s ancestors. 

But the pain was unmistakable. And he knew Theon was in the grasp of Roose Bolton’s bastard. 

The sharp pain ended, leaving a dull pain in its wake. A terrible pain, but a more bearable one. His mother had come rushing at the sound of his scream, as she did every time. His guards were more used to it, every so often a pain would leave him yelling out; and together they had devised a system to prevent them from running in whenever his soulmate felt pain.

“Robb?” Mother rushed over, a single glove on her hands, and placed them upon his face, “What’s wrong?”

Robb gasped as the pain hit him again, this time like a foot to the ribs, “I need to speak to Lord Bolton.”

Mother looked confused, her eyebrows scrunched together and her mouth pursed, “Whatever for? What can Lord Bolton have to do with your scream?”

“His bastard has Theon.” Robb panted, “And I can feel everything he is doing to him.”

His mother’s face smoothed in horror, “We had heard rumours of his depravities, your father was to investigate before King Robert’s visit, but there was no urgency. To think that they might be true-“

“Mother,” He interrupted, “They are true. I can feel it. And what’s more, I believe that the Boltons are flaying again.”

“You can feel it as in you suspect it, or do you mean literally?”

Robb only just managed to bite back a scream as the pain started in his finger, “Literally.” He grunted through his clenched jaw.

He thought he might have seen his mother mouth a curse, but that was probably just the pain. His mother was a Lady, she did not curse.

She stormed out of the tent, and Robb could hear her ordering a squire to find Lord Bolton, and for some Milk of the Poppy to be delivered to Robb’s tent.

The Milk of the Poppy likely would not work, it was not Robb’s own pain he was feeling after all, and the maesters were divided on whether anaesthetics had any effect on soulmate pairings. It worked sometimes for he and Theon, sometimes Robb found he had a fuzzy head with no explanation other than Theon being given Milk of the Poppy or being drunk, and back before his betrayal Theon had reported the same thing. 

The second wave of pain had passed by the time Lord Bolton arrived at Robb’s tent, his arrival heralded by the excited announcement of the squire sent to collect him.

The Leech Lord never looked particularly impressed, and being summoned to his King was certainly no different. He stepped into the tent, his nose raised as though there was an unpleasant scent inside. 

He used to look at Theon that way, his nose turning up with every jape he made. Robb wondered whether his bastard looked at Theon the same way now; whether it was one of the reasons why he seemed to be in pain so often.

Theon never had known when best to keep his mouth shut.

“You asked for me, Your Grace?” Lord Bolton drawled.

“I did.” Robb inclined his head in greeting, “I have a request of you, my Lord. It seems my soulmate is experiencing a terrible pain, of the sort deceived by those who have experienced flaying. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Bolton swallowed, “Lord Greyjoy is currently in the care of my bastard, Ramsay Snow. He has always had brutal appetites, ones I normally let him express upon those in my dungeons, it keeps him from scaring the small folk after all.”

That was a brutal and horrible idea, yet somehow Robb could see the benefits of it. He could appreciate the use of an attack dog, one kept leashed and only able to use their abilities on those deemed worthy. 

“Be as that may, flaying is still outlawed in the North. I would ask that you ensure such a practice is not occurring within your household, for such a thing will have serious repercussions for both you and your bastard.”

“Of course, Your Grace, I shall send a raven at once. If it is discovered that Ramsay has been flaying those in my dungeons the you can rest assured he will meet my wrath.” Lord Bolton said with a flat expression, “I shall also ensure that Lord Greyjoy is no longer one of the prisoners punished for his impudence with pain.”

Robb breathed through the latest pain, “Thank you, my Lord. I dread to think what might happen should a burst of pain occur during battle.”

Roose Bolton’s lips thinned into what could be viewed as a smile if one was feeling generous. “Indeed.”

* * *

Theon ached all over. The patches of skin which had been flayed burned as new skin tried to grow, a persistent itching that made him want to scratch at them.

He knew better though, knew better than to open a wound once more. That way lay infection and the not so tender touch of the Maester wielding a hot iron.

He ached all over, and he was stiff and cold and hungry, but he had no new wounds. They had stopped for a time, suddenly and with much complaint from Ramsay. 

Robb must have felt his pain, must have felt the agony Theon was in. But Theon did not deluded himself as to why Robb stopped it, Robb did not stop it for any love he might have felt for Theon, no he stopped it for he was sick of feeling the pain. 

And as much as it pained him to admit it, Theon knew he deserved it. He had betrayed his king for a father that did not want him; and all it had gained him was heartbreak and pain. If it was not a crime before all the gods, Old, New and Drowned, Theon was sure Robb would have ordered his death.

His muscles started to burn anew, pained from the unnatural stretch they were pulled into from the chains holding him against a wall. He knew Ramsay would be by soon enough, he was so very careful now to keep Theon uncomfortable yet not pained. So very careful to ensure Robb did not feel anything which happened to him.

“Did you sleep well my little pet?” Ramsay crooned with a bloodthirsty smile, “Are the accommodations suitable for the soulmate of a king?”

Theon spat at him, “Go fuck yourself bastard.”

To his great joy the spittle landed upon Ramsay’s garish pink doublet. A spot of dark he could only hope would stain the velvet. 

“Now, now.” The bastard wagged his finger like Theon was a misbehaving pet, “Where are your manners?”

Theon did not bother to respond. Ramsay could not do anything more to him, not while Robb’s orders stood.

“Not speaking to me? No matter,” Ramsay’s smile somehow became even more bloodthirsty, “I’ll have you apologising to me and begging for mercy before the night is through, you see, I have permission to play with you once more!”

That was not good. Not good at all. Theon started to struggle as the Bastard of Bolton slipped into his cell and tried to change the arrangement of his chains; but Theon was weakened by the cold and lack of food, and soon he was strapped once more to the wooden cross which dominated the cell.

His shirt was ripped from him, one of the few pieces of clothing he was allowed. One of the few protections he had from the bitter cold of the dungeons. He started to shiver as soon as it was off, but that soon stopped when a blade was pressed against his skin, fearful as he was to cut himself.

The blade slipped under his skin, an unmistakable pain, worse than burning, worse than the clenching of lungs when there was no air, but not quite as bad as the pain of Robb’s broken heart when he had heard of Theon’s betrayal.

A scream ripped from his throat. A scream that rang through the room, bouncing from the stones and ringing in Theon’s own ears. 

It was worse, the pain, after having so long without it, fresh and new again. His mind had dulled the memories, an attempt to protect him perhaps. An attempt which had failed. 

Ramsay chuckled behind him. “I had missed this, my pet, missed your screams and the pretty fall of your blood.”

Theon could only scream again as the blade carved a new path down his back. As a new scar was carved into his flesh. 

And then there was another pain, a stabbing one, one with no source. It was a pain like he had been punched in the chest.

One. Two. Three times.

Three blows which then radiated pain like a stab wound. 

Confusion filled his mind for a moment, he wondered whether it was a new torture that Ramsay had devised, before he realised what it was. Robb had been shot.

Robb had been shot thrice, shot while he was lowly distracted by the pain that Theon experienced.

Ramsay had used him as a distraction. The timing was too close to be coincidence. But for such a thing to happen he could not have been working alone.

Shame filled Theon’s heart as he realised what his actions had wrought. As he realised his taking of Winterfell, his betrayal of Robb, had made it so other turncloaks could come out of the woodwork. 

The sharp bite of a knife at his throat, one which contrasted with the cold bite of the blade against his back, made him panic and thrash in his bonds. If he could just escape his bonds maybe he could aid his love, maybe he could still save him.

Ramsay laughed as Theon cut himself on the blade against his back, as he panicked as both knives cut deeper. Only one wound bled though, the other only radiated pain so intense he could almost forget everything else. 

The pain in his heart and across his throat left, just as suddenly as it appeared, and a sudden sense of emptiness filled Theon’s soul. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks, but they were not ones caused by the pain of the fresh wounds upon his back, no these were ones caused by a terrible realisation.

Robb was dead. Theon had felt him die.

His soulmate was dead and now he would never get to apologise. 

Robb was dead. 


End file.
